Pieces
by tomiaru
Summary: picks up where awakening left off; i'll be making a bunch of flashbacks too
1. Default Chapter

The moon, like a perfectly curved blade slicing across the silken swathe of black sky, followed her as she ran…ran from the scene of the crime…ran from the keening cries of those who mourned…ran to shed droplets of tears on grass already wet with dew…

_* Everything's so blurry…*_

Her heart thudded as though preparing to burst from her chest, her feet pounded on the unforgiving turf of granite, rock and forest underbrush, her mind stumbled over unsorted thoughts she hurriedly shoved to some darkened corner of her brain, wanting to escape what was to come…wanting to forget her duty…

_* Everything is so messed up…*_

_"Nee-sama…" _

She closed her ears against the sound, shut her eyes to the specter that had arisen in front of her, raising his hands palm-up, motioning for her to stop…

_* Everyone is changing / There's no one left that's real *_

_"Nee-sama…chotto matte kudasai…"_

She heard the river before she came upon it…wedged in the middle of the forest… there was nowhere else to go…she fell on her knees, panting from exertion…

_* I stumble then I crawl *_

She opened her eyes and gazed bleakly at muddy waters that had eaten more of the land…she wanted to cast herself into it and be swept away by the currents, remembering a lost moment in time when there had been someone waiting for her to surrender to abandonment…

_*I am lost without you / How can I live at all? /…I wonder what you're doing, / Imagine where you are / There's oceans in between us / … that's not very far…*_

But she *had* left him far behind…and now someone else needed her…

_*Can you take it all away? *_

Dreading what was to come, she shifted her gaze to the patient but determined ghost who had followed her here…

_Kodomo…only a child…_The soul of a dying little boy floated a few feet away, gilded silver by the moonlight. His hair a cloudy mass of curls, his features clearly etched despite the transparency that all ephemeral fleshless beings had…he was smiling ever so sweetly…but his eyes pleaded…

*_ Can you take it all away? *_

_Iie…don't ask me…damn it all to hell, you're too young! You shouldn't be asking me for this…_Her hands curled into fists at the sides of her bended knees and her reddish-brown hair swished violently as she shook her head in negation. __

_"Help me, nee-sama…" _Even as he said it, the bishounen released his torment in a torrent of distortions…his eyes became twin black holes set in a skeletal mask…his curly hair lengthened and became a swarming mass of snakes releasing a foul greenish gas upon the air…his body twisted as though the hand of God had crumpled its paper thinness into a grotesque tattered rag…dozens of eyes appeared like sores on his rag-body, as though to compensate, for his eyeless sockets imitated his opened mouth in a soundless scream…

_* You know that I'll protect you from all of the obscene*_

_The powers of darkness shall not make you their demon slave, little brother…_With bowed head, the kneeling girl reluctantly embraced her newfound power…her hands wove and unwove in an interlocking pattern as natural to her as breathing…a dagger transmogrified and struck the heart of the writhing child-figure, making both child and girl flinch at the impact…still the girl continued her hand-motions, and her lips whispered the invocation almost soundlessly…

_"I am the Goddess of Death…heed my prayer…I release this boy's soul into Meifu. Amakawa Ieyasu. I take his pain as he leaves Chijou and enters Meifu!"_

A beam of light burst from the point the dagger had plunged into, surrounded the boy and pierced the kneeling girl who at the contact received impressions from him…the hulking figure of the child's father…the feel of the man's overpowering weight…strong hands encircling a fragile throat and snapping it easily, unconscionably…the sound of the boy's mother sobbing in the background…confusion, betrayal, guilt, humiliation, unbearable pain…

_* You know that I will save you from all of the ugly*_

The kneeling girl re-experienced the moment of death in that split-second flash of light…while the distorted image of the child gradually returned to its former beauty…a little boy again, smiling his sweet serene smile…

_"Watachi tachi daijobu desu…honto ni…daijobu…arigatou nee-sama…arigatou gozaimashita…"_

In a moment, the child had gone. Breathing heavily, the kneeling girl wept tears of both relief and rage, mourning the murdered child who would've become a vengeance demon if not for her…the dagger dropped, vibrating with leftover psychic energy, before it returned to its owner, plunging into her left palm…a mere needle's prick of pain, after what had just transpired…not the first, certainly not the last…

_* Nobody told me what to throw / Nobody told me what to say *_

Each time the dagger was used, she would remember each death it had dealt, as far back as her own past deaths, when she had been born and reborn human, and she would wonder how many more times the dagger would appear, how many more souls it would deliver to the other-world.

_* Everyone showed you where to turn / Told you where to run away *_

Lost souls had a way of seeking her out. Those who had died but didn't know they had, inevitably crossed her path, as though some whacked-out internal compass still signaled her location. Those who were dying violently were the most persistent. Accident victims. Suicides. Homicides. Sometimes she felt as though a neon arrow were flashing large and bright over her head with the invitation, "Come, _she's here!"_

The most heartbreaking of them all were the aborted children, lost because they sensed the wrongness of an interrupted destiny, angry and hurt because the very person who should have kept them safe had betrayed them instead. 

* _Nobody told you where to hide / Nobody told you what to say *_

She needn't go out of her way to find any of them; they came to her, bringing their hurts, a maelstrom of emotions and memories, and she felt them, knew each of them, owned each of them in whatever form they chose to see her: sister, mother, lover, goddess. 

_* Everyone showed you where to turn / Told you where to run away *_

She was Death. 

_*Can you take it all away? *_

She would have given anything not to be. 

_*Can you take it all away? *_

She would have given anything to remain only Kidou Hinata.

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"Blurry" by **Puddle of Mudd**

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_"Are you alright?" _ Yukaeshi glanced searchingly at her younger sister as Hinata entered their room. She wondered why she kept asking the question, Hinata having ceased confiding in her or giving straight answers a long time ago; force of habit, perhaps. Yukaeshi had had a lifetime of looking out for her sister, and now that they were the only ones left in the family, such as it was…

_"Why wouldn't I be?" _Hinata sent Yukaeshi a faintly surprised look and a mega-watt smile over her shoulder, as she opened her sling-bag and took out the contents to lay them on the table. _"I should ask that of you. I'm sorry, it took a little longer than expected for me to find the herbs we needed to make your medicine, but I have them all here, I stumbled on the last by the riverbanks."_

_"I'm feeling better, actually." _Yukaeshi straightened from her prone position on the bed and sat up. Her silver-gray eyes met her sister's, and she sharply noted that their usually luminous caramel color had dulled into a murky brown. _"I'm sorry to have troubled you." _

_"No trouble at all. And you're still drinking this, sister mine. I didn't go traipsing around in the dark for nothing, you're far from fully recovered." _Hinata smiled again before turning back to her herbs and selecting a variety and grinding them up with a mortar and pestle. The movements were graceful, but Yukaeshi somehow found each hand-motion unwieldy, the faint thump-thump of marble hitting marble jarring in the quiet room. _Nowadays, we're so polite to each other, so careful around each other. Like strangers._

The hour was late, most of the occupants of the inn had retired for the night, and the thick wooden walls effectively insulated whatever carousing was going on in the barroom, a floor below. Yukaeshi didn't wonder though about the hot water teapot that Hinata had smuggled into the room and was now filling with her mashed-up leaves. Her sister could and usually did charm people she met, and that included—perhaps prioritized—cooks. Hinata had learned charm from whom else but Gojyo, and persistence in all matters culinary from Goku, who was not only an expert, but made sure—or rather, _nagged_ everyone else, to keep up with his standards. A memory of the monkey knocking heads with a matronly cook known for her bad cooking made Yukaeshi smile faintly. Before they'd left that dinky bed and breakfast, Goku had turned the woman into a class-A gourmet. 

What Yukaeshi, her smile fading, did wonder and worry about was the cheerfulness that Hinata always showed her, regardless of whatever situation they were in, whether stuck in a roach-infested hellhole in the middle of nowhere or taking it easy in this quite respectable inn they'd chanced upon. She had a feeling sometimes that Hinata distanced herself from her emotions, as though trying to avoid touching on some hidden pain. It was a technique made familiar by Hakkai. Let it not be said that her younger sister had not learned anything from their sojourn with the West bound travelers. 

_"Arigatou." _Yukaeshi accepted her teacup and sipped. Let it not be said either that she hadn't learned anything herself. Hinata was being distant, true, but her imouto had nothing on Sanzo when it came to impassivity…Yukaeshi quickly shunted thoughts of Sanzo aside. Months after she'd left the monk, she still smelled him in her sleep, woke up wanting to lose herself in his warmth. Wryly, Yukaeshi noted the irony of trying to force Hinata to confront her feelings when she herself had unsettled issues. Damn, now she was brooding like him…_"I don't feel him anymore…"_

Hinata cocked an inquiring brow over her drink. _"Him?" _There were four, no, five possible "him's". _Liar._ Two. _Pants on fire._ One. 

Yukaeshi shook off any lingering thoughts of the violet-eyed monk. _"Amakawa Ieyasu." _She felt rather than saw Hinata's reaction, how the younger girl seemed to shut down. _That damned wall again. _Yukaeshi watched her imouto carefully set her cup on the table. _So calm. So precise. Who are you now, Hinata? _

_"Ah…you concern yourself overmuch with my affairs." _The smile was still in place.__

_"It's my business to look after the living." _Maybe stubbornness was a family trait after all. _I want my sister back, not this emotionless doll, my sister Hinata. _

_"Then why not stick to that?" _Hinata headed for the door. She opened the door, but hesitated crossing the threshold. Yukaeshi was allowed only a glimpse of her back. "_I eased his passage as best I can." _Then Hinata closed the door.

Yukaeshi sighed. At least Hinata had conceded an answer. Yukaeshi would just have to keep trying. A little at a time. _When will you quit running away and hiding, Hinata? _If they ever meet up with Gojyo, Hinata would be able to blend in well with him in a bar since she'd been spending enough time there. Maybe Yukaeshi should be thankful at least that her sister was often mistaken for a male and that she didn't drink a lot. Only a little at a time. Stick to the business of the living, she'd said.__

"Imouto, have you forgotten that you are still part of the living?" 

She'd spoken the thought aloud. Predictably, it was met only by silence. 

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To the Reader: This is gonna take a looong time to finish ^_^() I wrote this mainly as a shout out to the people who asked for a continuation—I hear 'ya, and am appreciative of the encouragement. I still have not obtained copies of GSM though, so my facts are literally blurry. I'm clueless about how exactly Homura died—the showdown between the quartet and the god is a definite must-know. I've got a hazy idea of where I want this fic to go, but obviously I need to be abreast of the material I'm messing with. In the meantime, thanks for your patience. ^_^ 


	2. Doko wa desu ka

*Darling, give me your absence tonight / Take the shade from the canvas and leave me the white / Let me sink in the silence that echoes inside* In the company of strangers…Hinata secured a bar stool and nursing her one and only drink for the evening, turned her back on the door and glanced around the comfortably large and not overly crowded barroom. Her roaming gaze paused on the old man who'd bought her a drink the night before. Nice old geezer. Full of stories about his beloved wife and daughter…one could almost lift out a snapshot from his myopic eyes of a young wife burning their very first meal together, of a two-year-old slyly snagging a piggyback ride on her father's shoulders, waving the sparklers fisted in her hand…hmm…that ought to have been 28 and 30 years ago, before she'd met them, that night when both mother and child had died in the fire. Looking at the old man's scars yesterday, Hinata had caught his absorption over the tired memory of having come home too late that night, his shock at seeing most of the house engulfed in flames, the smell of his burning skin as he ran through smoking wood to search for his family, the crashing sensation of the bookshelves he'd painstakingly built for his wife's collection falling on him and knocking him out, his anger at waking, the neighbors he'd cursed because they'd pulled him out instead of leaving him to die with his family. Hinata had left long before he'd gone in, and he couldn't have seen her anyway, but she was a bit taken aback when he'd looked up from his absorption and stared her straight in the eye. She wasn't the only one. When he'd bought her the beer, Hinata'd gotten a queer look from the bartender, a woman with hard eyes and a soft heart, who'd been serving the old man for ages and never before saw him exhibit any interest in his fellow drinkers. He certainly hadn't looked at the woman, even as she brought him his drink and her heart, time and again. If only obaasan knew that all the man saw was the touch of fire in Hinata's hair, all he'd gotten while she'd sat across from him was a clearer picture of how his family had died. Hinata grimaced. At least, she'd been able to make him see how they'd died without needing any exorcism, peacefully sleeping through the first few licks of fire, waking to the advanced conflagration in their one bedroom and clutching at each other, fearful only that he'd try to save them and die in the effort. At least he'd realized that they'd borne him no grudge, had loved him completely until the end. He seemed to be dwelling on happier memories now, and had barely glanced Hinata's way, no longer attracted to the smell of death on her. Yukaeshi must have taken care of the rest earlier today. Hinata drank a private toast to her sister, whom she loved and resented equally well; blast her well-meaning interfering soul. Hinata didn't mind that Yukaeshi had gotten the better end of the deal as Life-giver. She was a little put out however over Yukaeshi's penchant for always worrying over her. I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Yukaeshi seemed to think otherwise, a definite miss despite her usual discernment. Always tirelessly asking Hinata probing questions… 

*I'm a stranger to myself / But don't reach for me, I'm too far away / I don't wanna talk 'cuz there's nothing left to say / So my Darling, give me your absence tonight / Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside*

In the company of strangers there are always questions but never any need for answers…Funny how she got them anyway. She knew how most of the people here were harboring some guilt over someone else's pain, or at least tending their own; she knew that the bounty hunter hunched low on the right corner was waiting on a gang of murdering thieves in the house, and had brought in most of his past targets dead, starting with the father who'd raped and killed his younger sister (predictably he thought Hinata, whom he believed to be a boy, nonetheless resembled his imouto); on the left that guy with the skull earrings could hear his dead mother in every woman's voice and so dreaded and at the same time craved their society, platonically he repeatedly tells himself; his female companion could have sex only if she got drunk, ever since she was sweet sixteen when her first boyfriend's heart had given out while they'd been at it, and so far he'd been the only guy she'd ever truly loved; the guy on the other bar stool just lost his estranged father, had come home for the funeral, and now would rather be alone in a bar than be surrounded by his father's embittered friends, he'd stomach whiskey and listen to music rather than their endless string of praises (for his father) that blindsided him with recriminations (for himself); the woman singing on the makeshift stage was a kleptomaniac who had stolen a ring off some dead guy she'd left hidden in the shed at the back of the inn, not knowing (nor caring if she had known) that her brother the piano-man had been the dead guy's lover and murderer, and soon enough would be his gravedigger; their friends, the piano-man's cohorts, were guzzling beer and being rowdy after their successful raid, believing themselves safe from suspicion; the performers' mother and "manager" up front knew about her son's proclivities but had survived two husbands and a few men on the side by minding her own business and not theirs, she'd stuck to getting tips, clearing tables and cleaning rooms; the mother's sister, the bartender and innkeeper had no child who would inherit the family business, and was counting on her niece (men in the family tended to be cursed with bad luck, poor judgment and/or ill health), having given up on the old guy ever taking up her last proposal, although he seemed a little different nowadays, but he'd been so cold to her in the past… 

_In the company of strangers one could pick and choose over any number of possible questions and answers…or one could opt neither to question nor to answer at all…_Each person in the room had little or no interest in anyone but himself or herself. Each person in the room had his own agenda, packed emotional baggage, but entered and left the room carrying it undeterred. They would simply walk away from each other, intimacy un-called for and unwanted. Even the strange family was tied more by blood than by heart and more out of necessity than filial duty. They kept secrets from each other without seeing anything wrong in them. 

_*I'm trying to find a place I belong / And I suddenly feel like a different person*_

_What the hell is that singer babbling about? No matter. I don't really care._

_In the company of strangers one expects to be lonely and if asked, would rather be. _Hinata toasted the thought with grim humor. _To be comfortable with oneself takes maturity, doesn't it?_

*From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion / And I ran my hand o'er a strange inversion / A vacancy that just did not belong / The child is gone*

Someone new had entered the room. Hinata could feel the blast of cold air from the doorway. She negligently opened up her mind to the newcomer, but drew a blank. She frowned, concentrating harder, but got nothing, no memory of some death that would tell her the person's identity and tie up his character. This hadn't happened since she'd gotten her powers. Astonishing. Only Yukaeshi couldn't be read, but Hinata was linked to her, knew her presence and her nee-san was undoubtedly still in her room. So who… "Have you come for me, stranger?" Be damned to you. She would not turn to look. It was one thing to be alert and quite another to be frightened. Hinata would meet whoever it was with defiance rather than fear. 

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"The Child is Gone" by **Fiona Apple**

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Yukaeshi suddenly woke up, clutching her breast. She felt a terrible urgency in her limbs, an unusual tightening in her abdomen. She needed to go downstairs, for something was about to happen…

I can't move. I can't move a thing. Oh no… I can't afford to be sick now. I have to be strong for my family… 

"Hinata!" Her sister needed her. Kuso, what's come over me? 

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"Well, since you asked my dear, no." Hinata knew that voice. It carried over the singer's melodious tunes, over the piano music, over the hubbub of the two celebrating thieves. It made heads lost in memory or oblivious in drink swivel towards the doorway, to the heartbreakingly beautiful woman who stood proudly and glanced rather pointedly at Hinata, who still refused to turn around. With a graceful shrug of her shoulders, the woman slid into the stool adjacent to Hinata, and faced the younger girl. 

"Kanzeon."

_"Well met, Hinata-chan. You are looking none the worse for all your trials. I hear you've been spending a lot of time in…" _Kanzeon made a slight turn of hand that encompassed the whole room. She smiled at the recently bereaved man and made his heart infinitely lighter. In a buoyant daze, he left his payment inclusive of generous tip and headed home. Weeks later, his mind would still be drugged and overcome by that smile, unhearing of the vituperative comments his father's friends dished out. 

_"I've been hearing that a lot too. Why are you here, Kanzeon-san?" _Hinata had noticed the by-play but chose to ignore it. One does what one is meant to do. Kanzeon turned back to her, and Hinata felt her gut clenching with foreboding. What exactly was it that Kanzeon meant to do that concerned her?

_"I'm not here for you, Hinata-chan." _The repetition seemed to be an offered reassurance of sorts. It had little effect on Hinata, who waited, stoically, for the axe to fall on her head. Kanzeon looked a little uncomfortable, a small pucker bringing her eyebrows closer together, managing to be charming anyway. The pucker disappeared and Hinata wondered if she'd been imagining things. The Buddha looked as resolute as ever. 

_Now what?_

_"Let me get that for you." _In a quick, blurring move, Kanzeon had taken possession of Hinata's bottle. _"You shouldn't have been drinking so, Hina-chan." _Compassion, regret and a ruthless determination whirled in her judicious eyes. 

_"Kanzeon…" _Hinata's voice now had a slight edge. Something was wrong; she could feel it. She was breaking out in a cold sweat and swallowing repeatedly, keeping in the urge to vomit. _"Why…" _Hinata gripped the edge of the bar-ledge. _"What have you done?"_

"I came for the child." Kanzeon stared unflinchingly at the shock and dawning apprehension in Hinata's eyes. "Yours and Homura's."

Hinata's face drained of all color. She stood up, slowly, shuddering at the tremors racing up and down her spine. Her whole body felt like melted rubber. She looked down with horror at the woman she considered a friend. "I'm not pregnant. I can't be…! It's Yukaeshi, not me. She's been exhibiting the signs. I tell you…I can't get pregnant!" Hinata shook her head in negation, even as she knew, deep down, that Kanzeon spoke truth. Automatically, she'd been taking the same medicine she gave to Yukaeshi to prevent morning sickness, deluding herself that it was used not only for minimizing stomach upsets, but as a general tonic to soothe stressed-out nerves. She had been harboring life…no, she'd been carelessly playing with life. Her eyes turned to the bottle clutched in Kanzeon's hands, her hands crossed over her belly in a protective gesture. It's too late. Two months…I had a baby inside of me…all this time. She's taken my baby…our baby. Mine…Homura's!

* A vacancy that just did not belong / The child is gone*

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	3. Family

_"How could you?"_

Hinata had blocked the hubbub of the other occupants of the bar, her sole focus on Kanzeon. Unseen by the human eye, her whole person glowed red, her anger and grief coalescing into an automatic drawing-in of so much of her power, it was radiating off her in waves. She had forgotten where she was and no longer gave a damn as to whom she was facing. 

_"Stop this now. Your baby is safe." _Kanzeon was wrapped in golden light, and though her eyes were watchful, her concern was for Hinata and the humans who were unaware they were witnessing a tableau of supernatural proportions. _"You know I will prevail over a contest of power between us. You will only hurt yourself and harm the innocents."_

The innocents, fortunately, weren't gazing with stupefaction and wondering about the crazy broads and what they were arguing about in hushed voices. Although most of them (the men especially) did find their eyes drawn back and forth to the two women (although they weren't quite sure about at least one of them), but like oil in water, their thoughts, although present, were isolated and failed to submerge in actual processing because their senses couldn't seem to register stimuli. The bounty hunter noticed the women shared a certain quality he couldn't put a finger on, but decided they were family and having one of those fights he had no business attending to. The unruly two kept clearing their heads at the absolute beauty of the lady who'd come in so dramatically. They never quite got over the dazzle though, and stayed well away. The piano-guy would've sidled closer find out if there were steamy gossip he could use in blackmail, but he had to keep up his pretences as a musician, and for once, though he had perfect pitch, he couldn't quite make out the voices he longed to hear. The old guy just sipped his drink, looked from Kanzeon to the bartender, and wondered if it was time for him to marry again. 

Hinata didn't spare any glance on them now. Instead, she raised her hands towards Kanzeon, readying to strike. (This was interpreted by anyone watching as a gesture of goodwill. One of the boys wondered if he was looking at two lovers and was bitterly disappointed.) _"You've taken the only innocent I care about…where have you hidden him? Where is my son?"_

_"I have no intention of keeping his whereabouts secret, and if I had any regrets on taking him, this irresponsible behavior of yours is certainly erasing them." _Kanzeon's stern tone had the tensile strength of a whip. _"Do you think I wanted to take him from you? Do you think I had no cause? Hinata, he would've died another month from now! At the rate you were going, not even acknowledging his existence, carelessly drinking, preoccupied with your demons…"_

_"I didn't know…!" _Hinata hissed the words fiercely and her red aura rushed towards the Buddha as though intent on smothering the older woman.

_"You knew!" _Kanzeon's golden haze clashed with and by increments pushed back Hinata's unthinking attack. Seeing the dimming of red, Kanzeon spoke in a quieter voice. _"A while ago, you just asked for your *son*. You knew before then, just as you know that he is still within this building, now."_

The red aura fully dissolved around Hinata, as she dropped her left hand and her gaze in capitulation, her hair veiling her eyes. _"I would never have…I never want to hurt him. I just feel so…trapped…my family was taken from me without notice, these powers and my duties were given to me without my asking…to acknowledge my child would have invited fate to take him away…and yet, it still happened. You had no right to take him… he's mine."_

_"Oh Hina-chan…" _Kanzeon sighed. She stood up until they were once again level with each other, and tipping Hinata's chin up in an almost motherly gesture, pushed back the hair so they could see eye to eye. _"I foresaw disaster, I had to interfere...only in this, I swear. I don't want you to lose him either. You have only to take him back, when the time is right. In a way, you surrendered him to someone else's keeping, because part of you knew you weren't in a fit state to take care of him."_ __

Hinata pressed her forehead to Kanzeon's. _"How will I know if it's the right time?" _A whisper of uncertainty fluttered in the stilled air on which all eyes found they could no longer look at.

_"You'll know…or if not, he will. Look now, he's come to you." _With that, Kanzeon vanished. The barroom occupants blinked and forgot she was ever there, except for a feeling of dissatisfaction, as though they'd missed out on something wonderful. 

Turning around this time to face the doorway, Hinata looked into the clear gray eyes of her sister Yukaeshi.

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_"You shouldn't have come down, nee-san."_ Hinata was careful to look only at her sister's face. Yukaeshi might not know she was carrying two babies now.

_"I had to. I was worried about you. You called to me in my sleep." _The tone was absent-minded, almost as though Yukaeshi had something else on her mind and was still sorting out the proper words to express them with.

_"Did I? I don't remember. Kaeshi…" _Hinata couldn't bring herself to ask. _Do you know? Do you feel him?_

_"Your son startled my daughter when he suddenly appeared in my womb." _The answer came as though Yukaeshi had heard Hinata's question aloud. Not really surprising, since the older girl could read minds. Hinata had a little of the ability now, but was constantly embarrassed that she couldn't screen her thoughts as skillfully as her sister usually did. But in truth, she did want to ask…to know…

_"Wh-at? He…Sana…" _Hinata's tongue warbled… _If someone else's baby had been placed inside of me, would I have welcomed the child? Does my sister hate me? _

_"Oh, they're both fine…Sana's in rousing spirits actually, she's kicking up a storm. Are *you* okay with this? Really?" _Yukaeshi wondered what was going on in Hinata's mind. _If my child were transferred to someone else's womb, how much would I have ached from the loss? Does my sister hate me? _

_"I don't know…I want what's best for him." Am I stable enough to keep him safe? I don't want to expose him to the dying, bring him to the isles of death, even before he has gained life…anymore than I already have. Perhaps I did call out to you. I would've chosen you, my sister, above everyone else who would safeguard my son._

_"I don't know what he's like, your son." Perhaps I should tell her…yes, I ought to tell her this._

_"What do you mean? You have the sight…you told me how Sana would grow up to have your features…her father's coloring…you know within a heartbeat her moods…" _Hinata tried not to panic. _What could be wrong?_

_"Sana and I have bonds…that was the image, those were the feelings she's projected to me…but your son…I only know him through Sana, and even she isn't shown much. He's blocking us both. You see, she told me that he says his mother should be the first to see him, to know him. No one else." _Yukaeshi earnestly willed her sister to gain strength from the words. _"He knows I am not his mother. But as his favorite aunt, I will gladly let him stay within me for a while…if that is your wish."_

_"You're his *only* aunt." _Sana tried grinning at her own joke, despite the well of tears that blurred her eyes and caught in her throat. _"Tell him…tell Sana to tell him I love him."_

_"He already knows." _Yukaeshi smiled crookedly at her sister. _"Sana's telling him to shut up about it already."_

Hinata gave a wavering smile of her own. _"Thank you…nee-san." _

The two sisters hugged. _Our family is okay. We'll survive this. Everything will turn out all right._

_"So, are you gonna name my nephew, or will my daughter have to learn other thought-words aside from 'you' and 'boy'? I have yet to teach Sana her daddy's favorite word, 'moron'…" _Yukaeshi was startled to have jokingly referred to the priest without flinching from the quick hurt. Not that she actually mentioned his name, but it was a start…

_"Don't you dare! I'll call my *genius* son…" _Hinata thought for a moment. _"Rui. His name is Rui." _


	4. The Beginning of The End

Yukaeshi had trained herself to sleep lightly, when she slept at all. As a lone assassin she had had to constantly be her own guard, a part of her mind always alert to the potential threat of desperate cutthroats paid to take her life before she ended that of their employer, or survivors bent on avenging someone she had killed because she had been paid to do so, not because she personally bore them ill will. It was her job, nothing more. But that was a lie. Tattooed on her body were marks that attested to her lifelong aim of controlling pain. Death was never painless, and she'd become an assassin, killed time and again, as though she had the right to dole out pain. Carving signs and symbols on her body, she matched the scars inflicted in her heart, as though they were badges of honor, having survived the pain of loss, the death of most of her family, the betrayal of the clan she'd substituted. She'd abandoned both; she thought she'd severed her ties by leaving each circle, but the threads remained.

Now, her sleeplessness was that of habit, and of protectiveness, and yes, partly because of a stirred conscience. It was ironic that she now guarded life, she who had taken countless others…Sana and Rui were nestled in her womb, an extension of a family who had shattered and scattered so many times as to numb the heart, but as Yukaeshi had discovered recently, not enough in her case…Hinata, a sister regained, was now a few feet away from where Yukaeshi lay, and the priest she loved occupied her mind and usually crept into her dreams…

* if there is some ache before sleep comes / it is the broken love which even now remains in pieces / they are not so distant that they be mistaken for the deep night / the memories I do not want to be adorned just with sighs *

She wished she did not remember so much, or have the power to reach out for a glimpse of the man she had deliberately distanced herself from…it was a constant torment for her to stop herself from opening her mind to him, to see what he saw, feel what he felt to a certain extent…

_Where are you now, Sanzo?_

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In a dirty shack in the middle of yet another dinky town, the priest Sanzo stirs from a fitful sleep and gives up the dream of a contrary woman he wished to high heaven he had never met, onto wakefulness. He needed a shave, but that could wait, he wanted coffee, but the corner kitchenette was likely equipped with the makings of a cupful that tasted like crap and smelled of piss, and so he deferred in favor of the ever reliable, guaranteed mood-improving stick of Marlboro. 

The drag made him feel a little more human. This, however, was countermanded by the unhappy recall of vestiges of the dream. _Damn that woman, why couldn't she just stay in the corner of his mind, out of the way? _Puffing like a gasoline-generating dragon that had gotten a bad case of smog down his throat, Sanzo decided, what the hell, he may as well get it out of his system…plenty of time to brood anyway. He wouldn't be a man if he didn't wake up with an inconvenient erection, curse nature.

A drunken snore raised a pitch higher than the others, momentarily catching Sanzo's attention. Red-hair. He'd come close to dumping black dye over the kappa's head because he sported the same shade as Kaeshi. Sanzo had refrained from acting on impulse, although he'd gotten a number of uneasy looks from the river demon, whose puzzled head Sanzo had nearly bitten off that one time Gojyo asked what the hell the priest, glaring a split-second and a shade more heatedly than usual, had against him. Come to think of it, now would be a good time to plunk some of Hakkai's prized shoe polish on those crimson locks…_ack_. Disgusted with himself, Sanzo turned away. He felt the beginnings of a major migraine. 

* outside the window the night passes too quickly / for time cannot be returned / like a pale dream / the gap between today and tomorrow troubles me *

When will this all end? As though there weren't enough problems, the mere thought of that woman kept driving him to fits of temporary insanity. The mission was far from over, and for a while now they'd had not only Kougaiji's gang at their backs but also that Taishi who seemed to be spoiling for a fight. The weird thing was, Hakkai and Goku were acting laggardly, as though they actually wanted a confrontation. Sanzo had a suspicion that his two comrades would more exuberantly "welcome with fists" the latter opponent, rather than the former, for personal reasons of their own. Another thought that was designed to exacerbate his headache. He needed air, or at the least, some space, before he woke the others by cracking their hard heads together. The shalley (what he deemed a shanty nestled in an alley) was too cramped for the four of them anyway, and so he sat up, put on his robes, and not minding whose ass he kicked on the way out the door, stepped into the grayness of not-quite morning.

* something is not enough / somewhere I had made a mistake / no matter how much I bluff / I cannot yet see the exit / in the center of a maze *

Perhaps he didn't want it to end. Perhaps he'd gotten so used to the game of fighting, at times dodging, ever moving farther from a home that was no longer home without his master, that he had forgotten what they were playing for. The stakes were still the same, good vs. evil and all that crap, but the goal? The reward? Wasn't he just the errand boy of those blasted gods? And now, to his unending consternation and however reluctantly (for both persons concerned), he'd added the new complication of jumping into an involvement with Yukaeshi, an impossible dream of having someone and someplace he could belong to. Ha! That girl would kick him out of his idyllic daydream into the reality of the nightmare he'd gotten used to, she'd already cut herself off from him as fast as she could manage it. A smile tugged at the corners of Sanzo's mouth as he contemplated what method she would use to burst his rare bubble, and decided in advance that for the hell of it, he'd infuriate her by openly enjoying her barbs instead of being pricked by them.

Master, I will fulfill the task you gave me, but I cannot say that I do it with a conciliated heart and will…not anymore. After years of wanting nothing for myself, content with the celibate life of a simple monk, now it seems I do want something, more than I would have suspected myself capable of, and sooner than I'd counted on…

***********************************************************************************************

Crapshoot. Nights were longer nowadays, and his powers didn't include seeing in the dark. Not that there was anything to see, the band of four having slipped past him yet again. He'd lost their trail in that last skirmish with Kougaiji's scouts. Stupid buggers were a pain in his side, and he'd sent the sole survivor, blind, limping, and one-armed, to warn off Kougaiji from interfering with him again. They may be after the same thing, but they needn't tangle each other up in the process. No contest really, he was a stronger adversary than Gyokunmen's puppet, and would have had the sutra by now if not for those bungling idiots Kougaiji persisted on using as pawns. With eyes narrowed in annoyance, Homura estimated that he'd lost the two days he'd gained on the westbound travelers. The fire, built upon demon carcasses, crackled as though commiserating with his frustrated anger, but died down as though cowering from the scowl he directed towards its mullioned flames. 

There had been a time when he had had no need of fire to keep him warm at night…nowadays even the sun had difficulty heating the frost that was a barrier between him and normal sensory perception. Acidic demon blood could fall by the gallon upon his skin, but had no effect. He couldn't even smell the dead bodies. He felt nothing outside of this…dissatisfaction in his soul; he would call it by no other name. He'd come to think of the state as more advantageous than not, because now he'd recovered his focus, recouped his defenses, single-minded in his ambition of stealing the sutra. 

* this floating heart has become scary / it seems that it will cease to see itself / to those days that look as they were in flames / I say farewell and turn my back * 

He had no need of memories, and would not dwell on them, may they burn into ashes and leave no imprint in his mind. Nor would he worry unnecessarily over that minute chink in his heart that resisted being sealed up, reminding him he had one lying about unused, as though waiting for something or someone to stomp on it again. Eventually it would close off, and he'd be rid of that weakness. Having disposed of that potential target, nothing and no one would be able to harm him. He'd get used to this cold as well, and fire could be dispensed with in time. He might as well start now, and douse the dratted flames. His mistake would cease to affect him, die a long overdue death. His words, spoken to the only one given the opportunity to desert him, would no longer haunt him. He knew better than to repeat any of that.

* now rather than hiding my frailty / head on I take it all in / the thing not enough / the place where I had erred / they teach a little pain / when the day breaks / I walk on to search for a new self * 

"Why did you have to kill so many to vent such anger and still be unappeased?"

Swearing, Homura cursed the wind and the imagination that brought her voice to him, mocking his bid for an invincible self, for an impregnable heart. 

***********************************************************************************************

"The End of the Day" translated from the RK OST by Shinobi Chirlind-Byouko

***********************************************************************************************

Stupid. Stupid. Hinata abruptly woke herself from the trance. Being worn-out was no excuse for manifesting herself to Homura, though he couldn't possibly have heard her, much less seen her. Hinata cradled her aching head in her hands. It was that moron's fault anyway. If he hadn't killed that band of demons, almost simultaneously, she wouldn't have been drawn near him. Kuso. She shuddered in reaction. He had actually enjoyed killing them. It was chilling to have seen him through the demons' eyes, to feel such fear upon hearing that single bloodcurdling war cry that was the only warning for his swift attack. The last thing they'd seen was his slightly derisive feral smile…it had been an easy kill for him, as though they'd been no more than pesky flies he'd swatted because they'd irritated him and he had nothing better to do at the time. He'd actually piled the remains, lit them, and then sat indifferently next to the resulting blaze. Hysterically, Hinata wondered if he'd killed the demons because they would conveniently serve as alternative firewood.

Why was he so changed? His eyes had been so cold. He'd looked tougher, meaner, more uncaring of his appearance, unflinching even as his clothes were bloodied, where once he'd have restrained his strokes to keep himself immaculate.

May the gods help her, she'd been hurt every time he'd delivered the death stroke, it felt as though he were killing her, but she should've been used to that by now…not from him though. Somehow she had felt it so much more this time. Something was driving him to kill so casually, so recklessly, and she feared that some of those feelings were directed at her if not caused by her. The father of her son, the one she loved, was deliberately and unrepentantly turning himself into a cold-blooded killer, trying to snuff out the humanity he may have considered a taint before, but had tolerated, and was learning to appreciate before she'd left…What had happened to him in the intervening months? It hasn't been that long…

A hand touched Hinata's shoulder, startling her. 

***********************************************************************************************

Yukaeshi didn't know if she'd reached out to call Hinata's attention or because she'd needed to balance herself. The vision had caught her unaware, she had been busy NOT thinking of Sanzo, but even that may have triggered her precognitive abilities…avoiding seeing him in the present, her mind had veered into the future instead.

Homura and Sanzo fought in a blurry of spiraling movement. Sand flew as bodies were flung to and fro…this was no mere altercation, both of them strained to inflict the most hurt…Sanzo's Smith and Wesson whipped out in an arc, pointed with deadly accuracy at Homura…Homura's blazing sword deflected, attacked…

Hinata saw such sorrow in her sister's eyes she became alarmed. "What is it? Are you all right? Nothing has happened to Sana? Rui?"

Yukaeshi shook her head. Determinedly, she straightened, braced both of them, as she concentrated on seeing more and failing that, she opened herself to receive feelings. Homura…She could feel nothing from Homura. But Sanzo's fatigue would have made her crumple to the floor if not for Hinata's supportive arm. Sanzo was hurt in so many places, the bitter taste of defeat laced his determination to keep fighting, no matter what…Yukaeshi drew blood as she bit her lip to keep herself from crying out at the pain of a crushing blow that blindsided Sanzo…she was losing the thread of impression, Sanzo was blacking out…

Yukaeshi gasped for breath, opened her eyes, slowly focused on Hinata's pale face, and fought to keep conscious…"I'm okay, I just need to sit down…" She used Hinata's arm to lever herself into a sitting position on Hinata's makeshift bed.

Hinata still hadn't recovered from the shock of seeing her sister's dismay at what could only be one of her visions; it had so weakened Yukaeshi. Although her nee-san shivered in reaction, the color was returning to her face, and her grasp became firmer…but Yukaeshi's eyes were still dulled with horror. "Tell me what happened…tell me what you saw."

"Homura and Sanzo fought…will fight in earnest." Hinata's heart stopped at the words. Yukaeshi appeared calm, her voice cool, only her eyes betrayed her distress, as they stared resolutely into Hinata's.

"I don't know when exactly, maybe tomorrow, maybe two days from now, but this fight cannot be prevented. Sanzo will get hurt." Yukaeshi let go of her sister's arm. The withdrawal was like a slap in the face.

"I'm sorry." The words were automatic. Hinata felt compelled to say them, knowing it was useless and inadequate.

"So am I." Yukaeshi was apologizing for the involuntary withdrawal, and for what she was about to say. "I felt Sanzo get badly beaten but Homura…I felt nothing from him, Hinata…"

"That must mean he wasn't hurt…" The explanation was offered to offset the dread in Hinata's heart.

"No…it was a premonition. I believe…no, I am positive, that Homura will die as a result of that fight…maybe not during it, maybe not by Sanzo, but soon after and because he had attacked Sanzo. I'm sorry, Hina-chan." Yukaeshi embraced her sister, trying to make up for her words, trying to absorb the hurt she'd inflicted, trying to sympathize with her sister if not with the god who will be responsible for hurting two people she cared for.

"No, Kaeshi…no, I will not accept that." Hinata held tight. Her eyes remained dry, her voice stayed level despite the violence of her feelings. "Was it Hakkai? Gojyo? Tell me…you have to find out…we have to stop them…"

"I tried. I couldn't find out anything else, I received that premonition; I was not looking for it." Yukaeshi tried to soothe her sister, even while despairing at her ineffectuality.

"Then we will find them and physically keep them from fighting. Sanzo will not get hurt. Homura will not be killed." The light of battle entered Hinata's eyes. "I cannot…I will not let him die."

Yukaeshi desisted from saying what was uppermost in both their minds: Hinata, as Goddess of Death, may have no choice when the time came for Homura to die.

"Kaeshi, nee-san, you have to help me stop them. Please, for Rui, for me, say you'll come…"

"I'll go with you." Yukaeshi will support her sister's hopeless cause. I'll grieve with you…

"Thank you. We will stop this madness…" It was the only bearable option for Hinata. How can I experience your death without dying too? Homura…

***********************************************************************************************

Someone snickered, if such an elegant puff of sound could be given the term, certainly borne of irreverence anyhow. Kusanagi jumped a foot into the air, forty-years old and still living on nerves, cigarettes, and the occasional freelance writing job. Homes and Gardens hadn't suited his taste for the scandalous, his hunger for the disreputable, and so he had quit that job and many more after, in search of that one story that contained all the elements he wanted: danger, betrayal, murder, revenge, disillusionment. He thrived on the last, and would have avoided the first, but every now and then, he was threatened with the ones in between, the very things he wanted to document on paper, but cowered from in reality…he was meant to be behind the scenes, not staring at the face of death, into the unusual pair of mismatched eyes of a charming young man with a halo of fire who had mysteriously materialized. It seemed as though one eye were mockingly trained on Kusanagi, and the other on the young girl who sat unconcernedly warming herself next to the campfire. Briefly, Kusanagi entertained the nasty thought that something might happen between the two youngsters, who looked about the same age and matched each other in beauty, but he withered beneath the full stare that the young man turned on him, as though the latter had read Kusanagi's mind…

"Oh stop glowering, Rui, you'll give Kusanagi a heart attack, sneaking into my camp…" the young lady spoke matter-of-factly, almost dismissively, when it looked to Kusanagi that she had no defense…but wait, she knew the intruder, she'd spoken a name…somehow the thought did not calm him, even though the face of the man named Rui had softened in humor, all of it directed at her.

"Now, coz, I wouldn't exactly call it sneaking…" Rui sat down cross-legged next to the girl, and grinned in response to her raised eyebrow. He noticed that the dirty old geezer—wherever did Sana find him—was taking the first cautiously relieved breath the sod could manage after his arrival. Rui decided to keep an unobtrusive watch on the old man even as he continued teasing his cousin. "More like disengaging a few bombs and deflecting some of your booby traps, before casually but decorously walking into your camp. Break my heart and say you haven't missed me, Sana-chan." Knowing the action would irritate his cousin, Rui tugged at a silky lock of blonde hair that had escaped from Sana's long ponytail.

"I haven't missed you." Annoyed, her violet eyes snapping with temper, Sana slapped his hand away. The oaf insisted on treating her as though she were still ten years old. She was sixteen for cripes' sake, practically a lady, and here he walks in after three years without word or stray telepathic thought, taller than her, damn it, with more battle experiences probably, damn him, and he expects to be welcomed with open arms. A kick in the shin is what he needed, more like. She gave in to the desire and drank in his pained oath. She felt better already. 

"Damn it, Sana, that's no way to treat your 'twin'." He would've laughed out loud at her affronted reaction to his words, but Rui didn't want to risk another limb. He'd known Sana forever, knew her better than anybody, and he really wouldn't want her to mangle him and then regret it later after her temper cooled down. "I have every right to be here, and you know it. I heard you talking…" Rui's striking face had turned serious, his concentrated stare back on Kusanagi, questioning the reporter's presence with his cousin. 

Kusanagi swallowed. Where had he seen that stare before? "I-I'm a reporter…" The saliva dried in his mouth and he couldn't get anything past his choked throat. The boy was looking at him with considerable interest, and for some reason, that was more terrifying than the near-negligent stare Kusanagi had been subject to before.

"Kusanagi Osamu was that reporter daddy and the uncles met before." Sana felt no other explanation was necessary. "He wants to continue his story, learn more about mom and Aunt Hinata. I've been briefing him."

"Yes…" Rui's voice had added a new element that the avidly listening Kusanagi couldn't put his finger on. He decided it was safer not to try. "I remember him now. But Sana, I heard your romantic version of the story, and I must say, okaasan was not so…female as to worry about experiencing Homura's death…" 

Sana bit back the retort that sprang to her lips when Rui had said the word "female" so scathingly. Mention of his father always put Rui in an uncertain mood…fouler than Sanzo's, and more dangerous than Kaeshi's, and that was saying a lot since her parents were the champion temperamentals…certainly as scary as her Aunt Hinata could become, considering what mother and son were capable of in a snit…

"Mother would not have hesitated to kill Homura herself, as you well know…" 

When Rui smiled like that, when his eyes got that expression in their hidden depths, Sana was intensely reminded of the impressions she'd gotten of Homura, whom she vaguely recalled from her pre-natal connection with her mother. It awed her. She hated the feeling and hid it from her cousin, knowing also that he was farthest from her when he thought of his parents. His attention was on Kusanagi now, all of his genki playfulness gone…

"If you want to know about my parents, Mr. Reporter, you'd have to get it from me. I doubt you'd be prepared for what you'll hear…" 


	5. Hinata's Past

The fire crackled, breaking the sudden silence that had fallen upon the three silent figures: a young girl, a boy who looked about the same age, and a middle-aged man who, although he sat cross-legged on the ground like the others, gave off the impression of being "on the edge of his seat" as he gazed avidly at the boy. The man's expression—his eyes feverish, his nostrils flared, his mouth all but slavering—resembled that of a weasel who'd just found the tempting remains of a carcass already picked to the bones by his cousins once-removed, the jackals. It wasn't surprising that his companions chose to sit a little distance away from him. 

The girl, calmer in demeanor than the man, would nevertheless betray herself to the observer careful enough and quick enough to note the surreptitious glances she sent the boy's way. Not many observers would be able to do so, and many of them would forego staring at the boy for the chance to gaze with rapt befuddlement at the beauty of the girl. In the soft glow of the campfire she looked ethereal, luminous with the light catching glints in her yellow hair, and playing up her almond-shaped amethyst eyes. Like a moth to the flame, a few chance observers had unfortunately sought to possess that beauty and perished in their efforts. 

Unapparent at first glance, a quick temper coupled with an uncanny ability to create and use explosives, as well as the skill to wield a variety of weapons (star-shaped iron _shuriken _the most favored), made the girl as dangerous as she was beautiful. Of course, some observers (most of them men) proved pig-headed enough to persist on merely seeing the obvious, and she had long ago gotten into the habit of wearing the hooded cloak thrown back on her shoulders, whenever she left the privacy of her home camp. People tended to gawk, she tended to get impatient, and well, it was really too much bother to _end_ all rudeness (not to mention messy and overkill). The disguise was off-putting, clearly stating that the person within would brook no botheration from curiosity-seekers. At night, the cloak simply became part of the uniform of an assassin. A fringe of dark fabric would be all that her targets would see, and only if they could distinguish the material that almost perfectly resembled the night.

The boy, who happened to be her cousin but who was the closest she had to a brother, gazed at the fire but not because the girl would be uncomfortable with his stare, they were too close for that. In fact, he'd once teased her that she may be as beautiful as her mother, but she couldn't hold a candle to her father's looks, which was true enough to have irked her a tiny bit, although she hadn't let on. Not content with that insult, the boy's younger self had amended the statement that since she had her father's coloring, perhaps she did resemble him more, especially because she could be as manly as he when it came to fighting. That would have earned him a black eye, if the girl had not hit upon the perfect comeback: the boy must know what he was talking about since "beautiful" was an adjective that fit him exactly. "Uniquely beautiful", if one didn't count that his father had the same mismatched eyes and too-long lashes, "stupendously" if one counted the pretty auburn curls from his mum. At that age, he had _hated_ being called that, even without the additional adverbs, and only his mother was allowed to call him _that_ to his, yes, comely face. 

_That _had resulted in one more workout that demonstrated both their fledgling fighting skills and the bad temper they'd inherited from their parents, who despite knowing where to lay the blame (namely, themselves), insisted on confiscating weaponry and forbidding fight lessons for a month. Not that the tussles halted after that, of course.

At sixteen, neither Sana nor Rui seemed to have changed much, except maybe that they were too used to their remarkable faces (and the predictable reactions) to remark upon them anymore. Sana had learned more caution with maturity and was less likely to fly off the handle, and Rui, though still provoking, was more sensitive to others and as always protective of his "twin sister". They knew each other so well…Rui had realized at once that his cousin had worried over his absence and belated return, the relief had been that apparent, packed in that wallop of a punch she'd bestowed on his worthless self. His guilt at what she must have gone through was quickly translated into their familiar teasing pattern, and Sana had gamely taken it in stride. Sana, seeing Rui's abstraction, held off from uttering the burning questions on her tongue, and prevented herself from initiating mind-communication. He could not be rushed, and though she wanted to know exactly what happened in the three years they hadn't seen each other, she would wait. Rui was on the verge of revelation, and she wondered just how much he would disclose with the inquisitive Kusanagi present. 

In the end, it was the reporter who jumped at the first sound of the crackling fire, and broke the silence. _"Boy, you'll find me decidedly hard to shock." _Excitement had loosened his tongue and given his speech an incautious bravura. This was it. His big break. An exclusive! A doomed romance, the judgment of the gods, life and death, all the threads of a fine story…_Oh,_ _goodie!_

Rui lifted his gaze from the fire towards Kusanagi. Again, he gave that faint smile reminiscent of his father's. _"We shall have to see, old man. You know only of my parents' reputation, therefore I must begin at the beginning. To understand their story, you must understand who they were."_

_"Yes, yes, do get on with it…" _Kusanagi's impatience withered beneath Sana's baleful side-glance. _"Er, I meant to say, I would very much like to hear about them, no hurry, take all the time you need." Just make it quick. And let me live to retell the tale. _

_"To start with, my mother Hinata…"_

***********************************************************************************************

Hinata had been born with the mark of the dragon at the back of her left shoulder. It matched that of her nee-san, Yukaeshi, whose dragon-mark had appeared at the back of her right shoulder. Nothing more than a few lines shaped like talons, but it had immediately set them apart. They were half-sisters actually, already branded by having a deity as their sire, but the birthmarks prophesied that the gods had particularly chosen them, the reason as yet unknown, but already feared. Would the gods exact vengeance through them, or would they be harmful only to themselves? No one knew. But at each birthing, the respective midwives surmised that it would be better if the children of the dragon were drowned at the spot, else great suffering will occur. Perhaps a god will be reborn in the body of one so marked, a god as much likely to be evil as good. 

After her gloomy pronouncement, Kaeshi's midwife, having been told off by Kaeshi's mother to cease being hysterical, was struck by lightning while taking a breather right outside the house. The midwife's assistants (for she was the best midwife in town and trained apprentices) found her toasty corpse, and no more was said about drowning. Kaeshi grew up wondering why people were uneasy in her presence, and when her mother committed suicide, why no one expected her to grieve. Their accusatory glances were enough to dry Kaeshi's tears, who had felt her mother's absence even before her mother had become mad and had ended her own life. Kaeshi had known no other family, and set out in search of her absentee father, finding instead his other wife, and learning of other children, none at all like her, excepting Hinata.

Luckily (or so it would seem), Hinata's midwife didn't die so dramatically and not as quickly. It was speculated that she merely got lost in the woods on her way home and got into some kind of accident. Since she'd insisted on living in such an isolated and dreary spot, no one commented on the fact that she'd just disappeared. And no one knew exactly _when_ she disappeared, although a rather jumpy little boy saw her swaying about after Hinata's birthing and thought he heard the braying of wolves after the midwife had reached the end of the road, crossed over to the woods, and out of his sight—supposedly the last anyone saw of her. Since the jumpy little boy was also a renowned storyteller (ergo, a good liar), they paid him little mind. Only the superstitious few would cross to the other side of the street when Hinata would be passing by, and their children would also be the ones who tormented the young Hinata, much to the annoyance of her older siblings who would defend her. 

Akaze, Hinata's older brother whom she was closest to before her nee-san came, would often be seen chasing after the village brats, picking them up by the scruff of their necks and shaking them until they apologized to Hinata, whose shorter legs took longer to join the fray. She'd usually arrive just in time to receive their sullen mumblings of insincere apology while Akaze watched over with a dour expression and a vigilant eye. On one such chase, things didn't progress the usual way: Hinata saw Akaze's strides falter, him kneeling on the ground, doubled-up with a hand to his mouth, and the village kids, emboldened by the sight of the fallen giant, moving in a half-circle and jeering at him. Seeing one of them pick up a stone to hurl at her brother, Hinata tore a branch off a nearby tree and ran the fastest she had run, screaming that she'll make the lot of them sorry, just you wait, if they hurt her brother. Coming from someone who had never before issued any threats despite extreme provocation, the child with the stone hesitated, then looked to his companions for support—but the rest of the little monsters had dispersed and so he'd dropped his burden and nefarious intentions, and ran like hell. 

Akaze was laughing and wheezing at this display of cowardice in the face of Hinata's martial blandishments when she reached him. Smiling a little at her brother's hilarity although she didn't get the joke, Hinata asked if onii-san was okay and why was he kneeling in the dirt? Akaze would've replied but for a fit of coughing that went on and on, Hinata had to thump him on the back, which made him spat out the blood that had bubbled up his esophagus and would've choked him. Aghast, Hinata asked if she had made him bleed, to which he forcefully said no, shaking his head for added emphasis. The child Hinata hadn't been reassured, and thereafter would experience guilt at his every cough; when Akaze finally died after a painful bout with tuberculosis, she was heartbroken, and though she knew it was illogical, half-believed the little horror (he of the stone who never quite got over his undignified retreat) who accused Hinata of causing her brother's death. It was around this time that Yukaeshi discovered the existence of her other family, and by keeping her imouto busy with training (so Hinata may better defend herself without her brother's—or for that matter anyone else's—aid), Kaeshi was chiefly responsible for Hinata letting go of her grief.

Yukaeshi was a rather rebellious teenager, mouthing off and not trusting authority, and having little to do with anyone but Hinata. Learning that she and Hinata were considered the cursed sisters, Yukaeshi persuaded Hinata for both of them to have a tattoo done of a dragon to complete the marks, seeing as they were there already. Hinata, wanting her sister's approval and possessing a defiant spirit of her own, readily agreed. The tattoos cemented their bond but also caused their break-up. Hinata's mother was saddened at the valiant efforts of her daughters (she'd come to look upon Yukaeshi as a daughter, although Yukaeshi, rather guiltily, spurned this well-meant "mothering" out of loyalty to her own mother) to come to terms with what she considered was her punishment for loving a god; but her relatives, at whose behest they depended on as a family, were none-too-pleased at the reminder of what they considered an abomination. They saw it as embracing a fate that was forced upon the daughters of a sinful god, and reprimanded Yukaeshi harshly for being the instigator, overriding Hinata's protests that she should be equally punished because she'd really made her own decision. Yukaeshi had already been "chastised" early on for having "too many drawings" on her body and engaging in "strange activities" with gang members (this from an uncle who had seen a suspicious-looking character waylay Yukaeshi—in fact, Kaeshi had been repulsing invitations for years, choosing to study martial arts on her own and living close to her imouto). For Yukaeshi, who unbeknownst to Hinata, had borne the brunt of the abuse from the relatives for her imouto, this latest development was the last straw. That was the night that Yukaeshi ran away from home, deciding that she would join one of the well-known (and greatly-feared) clan-gangs and vowing never to return, hesitating only to exact a promise from Hinata that they would meet again, a year from then, in the city. 

Yukaeshi was therefore not present when the rest of Hinata's family died, all violent deaths, the worst of all, her imouto Myoumi, the even-tempered one, unwaveringly serene no matter how many times Hinata or Yukaeshi would tease her without mercy, envied for her resemblance to their okaasan and the unconditional love it garnered for she was neither a reminder of the past nor a burden to the present. Neither of her sisters would have swallowed her pride and apologized if Myoumi had not extended the olive branch each and every time, to their shame. Neither would they have admitted to the affection they had for the youngest sister, that Myoumi's quiet presence also gave them a sense of peace. If they had but known that they would not be given the chance to say what they felt, beyond that night of terror, when in the light of the sickle moon, Myoumi was raped and then murdered. She was found the next day, a little distance from where the rest of the family lay, again closest to the mother but rendered almost unrecognizable—her body lay like that of a broken doll, lily white hands scratched and bleeding, the fingernails she'd used to claw at her attacker torn, ragged like her clothes, her face a fixed mask of purple bruises with mouth gaping open in a scream that existed without sound, and her eyes looking soullessly on anyone who presumed to glance upon the remains of her pain. In death, Myoumi had been cheated of her serenity. 

Hinata had retched at the sight, used her own bloodied hands, one to hold her splitting skull and the other to wipe at her mouth, retched again, and thought of crawling away from it all, but knew she'd only crawl back again, because she had to see it all, bury it all, as witness and survivor and mourner. Hinata remembered little of what had happened, only glimpses of violence that would appear in her dreams ever after, and though she would awaken hearing her family's screams, total recall seemed impossible, for the trauma had erased memory retrievable in full consciousness. She tried to rid herself of the memory block and find the faces of the killers so she may avenge their deaths, but it was like turning into what seemed a familiar corner and unexpectedly finding oneself in a maze of dark alleys, one after the other, each leading endlessly nowhere.  

Because Hinata alone had survived, she believed that somehow, their deaths could have been prevented if she had not been there to draw bad karma, if she hadn't resented them for pushing Yukaeshi away, if she hadn't at times hated them for treating her differently. The day she woke up an orphan was the day she truly believed in her curse, and all the hinted-at forebodings coalesced into conviction. She may have loved them, but that hadn't been enough to save them, and she swore never to make herself vulnerable to hurt and make others vulnerable to fate by caring for anyone else. These thoughts kept circling in her head as she drifted in and out of consciousness, trying to gather the strength to move, while the corpses of her family gathered flies and dust, at the one and the same time reproaching her and keeping her a macabre sort of company. Hinata did not appear at the meeting place Yukaeshi had set the next night, and her nee-san, who by now had violent and disillusioning experiences of her own, became worried enough to search for Hinata…but how Yukaeshi felt upon returning to her spurned home and its escalated nightmarish aspect, how she was able to find Hinata digging the last of the graves as a sort of penance, is another story altogether, in the keeping of Kaeshi's daughter and not Hinata's son.

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It was at this point that Rui halted his narration to ask the eagerly listening reporter a question. _"Tell me, Kusanagi-san, would a woman who knew violence at such an early age, who promised not to open herself to anyone, be likely to spare someone like Homura, who had no mercy for the foes he murdered?"_

Kusanagi blinked at the sudden change of track. He wondered a moment if Rui was being rhetorical, but glancing at the narrator and his quizzical air, Kusanagi's heart sank. _Er, I…well…hmmm…it would seem…" _This was tricky. No matter how indifferent Rui appeared to be to his father, and no matter how objective he sounded, they were still talking about the boy's parents. It would do him, Kusanagi, good to be tactful. _"It would seem that your mother would have found it difficult, in light of her experiences you understand, to be violent with anyone, even, as you say, a mur—, a killer. But she did, after all, become the Goddess of death…and we hear accounts of her exploits even before that…"_

_"I'm not asking for 'accounts', mind you, I already warned you not to put so much store on reputation, but if you insist, then I am giving you *the* account." _Rui's voice was quietly severe. _"I am asking you, based on your opinion alone and as I am the next best authority apart from my parents on the subject, based on what I have just imparted, whether you think my mother capable of harming my father."_

Kusanagi hunted in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his sweating brow with, but came up with nothing. He looked over at Sana, but it appeared that she had ceased being interested in what he had to say since her cousin had sauntered into the camp and interrupted their tête-à-tête; she looked neither encouraging nor particularly discouraging. The cloak may as well have veiled her features from him, for all the reaction she showed. His little diversionary tactics proving ineffectual, Kusanagi opened his mouth to speak. _"I…I don't know your father, do I? Not really, I just met him that one time. Nor do I know how your mother felt for him…" _He continued hastily… _"Although I am sure she must have, er, loved him?"_   

_"Good answer". _Kusanagi breathed in relief. He didn't see Sana relax her stance slightly. _"You're right, at this point in the story, no one can be expected to make an educated guess as to the goings-on between my mother and father. And you have raised a valid point—did my mother in fact, love my father? What could possibly have made her love him?" _The last question was asked in the softest voice Rui had yet used. He shook his head and stared into the flames. Sana, in her assumed inconspicuous role, continued to watch over him silently, a trifle worriedly.

_"My father…Homura…"_

         


	6. Homura's Present

He had killed the priest, and he knew they were coming for him. *I hurt myself today / to see if I still feel / I focus on the pain / the only thing that's real / the old familiar sting / try to kill it all away / but I remember everything * 

He had known it was suicide. In truth, he had counted on the priest, or one of Sanzo's demon disciples to finally end his existence. The bastards had put up a good fight, but it was the priest who had borne the brunt of his blows, who had sapped enough of his strength to give him pause and whom he'd thought for a moment would beat him. He had known it would be that almighty monk who would take him on—the sutra, after all, was Sanzo's responsibility. Homura had anticipated the risk, prepared for the difficulty, steeled himself for combat, savored the possibility of death…and in the end it was he who had won. Quite a disappointment, really, considering that he remembered the guy from a long time ago, when they'd all been in Heaven, when the future monk had been no less than the nephew of the highest Being. A cool customer then, with all that glittery blond hair and those cold jewel eyes—confound it, the guy may have looked like a fruitcake, but he matched the strength of battle gods. You've gotta admire the audacity of someone who would baby-sit a menace like that monkey and still show himself in court, calm as you please, insisting that the thing be treated well because it was his pet, never mind that the creature had tarnished Heaven's best weapon, that battle prodigy. What an Achilles heel that monkey could become, and by accident too. Befriended by a star general, protected by a god with clout—sweet deal. The two general hangers-on had had their own roles, their own duties in that world-above, and they'd been worth watching as well—one never knows where one's enemies might spawn. They had banded then as now, misfits-in-harmony. Typical. 

* _You could have it all / my empire of dirt / I will let you down / I will make you hurt*_

_Look at all the demons who crawled to my side as soon as they'd gotten wind that I had possession of the sutra._ _Weaklings would always keep in close company, attaching themselves to the strong. It was really too godamned easy to get rid of the parasites_. _I worked alone—didn't anyone get the memo? I have always been alone._

It puzzled Homura that someone as strong as Sanzo, or even those two suckers—to give them credit, they can stand on their own feet—would opt to be united again on earth: demoted, but still latched on to one another's destiny, like a bracelet (functional and decorative, eh?) on Kanzeon's arm. Why the compulsion to stand together? Really, if they insisted on being so dense and easily manipulated, they were welcome to it. Friendships made one vulnerable. Homura would reap the benefits of being alone. If it meant taking on the consequences, taking on a group and not just an individual, then so be it. He'd gone ahead and killed one of their number, so he might as well just count on the other three coming for him, whether separately, or as a whole berserker trio, minus-one-but-the-fellowship-goes-on, ha-ha-ha. Maybe they'd do the bloody job right this time. They could attack him, and he wouldn't even care if he survived the bloody inconvenient fight. It's all the same anyway. A fighting god has to fight, ha-ha-ha, get tagged with that privilege and even if you got sick of the monotony of it all, you play the game. The sutra was really just another toy: call it a spade, a weapon, bait or prize. It is no substitute for the loss of a friend, and admittedly Homura can, if he tried really, really, hard, regret killing someone who had so many uses. Battle practice. Entertainment. Free insults. Occasional driving away of pesky demoniacs—hey, time-savers are essential in every battle plan. The fiendish monk could even have eventually answered his present need. Perhaps Sanzo had been having an off day and by offing him, the potential for suicide attempts that could go all the way had slid to zero percentile. Fucking A.

*  What have I become? / my sweetest friend / everyone I know / goes away in the end * 

_Why does it always have to be a girl? Really, what a frigging cliché one can turn into, and despite one's intelligence, oh fuck it, one's instinct. _It is so much easier to fight when one has nothing to live for_—victim number-I've-lost-count thought I'd go all weepy on that one. _Love makes one fragile_—this gem from another shithead, but to his credit, he followed it up with a sentiment I actually agree with: _What use is a piece of china if it's not broken?_ True, true, it is easier to kill with jagged edges. Right-O, the guy could've been a court jester—he believed he was dispensing wisdom hidden in his ridiculousness, that's the joke—for some demon-king I dethroned and decapitated. _

Homura-the-loner had the advantage, because he had no one to live for, they'd killed her ages ago (and note that for gods, an age is much longer than a godamned eon), and he'd had a bitch of a time getting over it too. Sure, sure, a little revenge thought bubble would blow up, some dementia would blast the damned rage-stopper, but all in all, life was one numb nothing. Well, fine, first he'd been a walking abscess, a silent zombie, but then he gotten used to it. It became an old pain, and he'd learned to live with it, even ignore it. Eventually he started to talk and function "normally" around other people, i.e. finally noticing they were there. Which gave him the occupation of standing stiffly in one corner, looking antisocial and talking to the dead girl. She never did answer, but those one-sided conversations sustained him, and he could maintain the wall of indifference against everybody else. Of course, he hadn't known that the damned thing had an expiration date, or that he would fail to recognize a chink when he actually started acknowledging the existence of other beings (_ignorant S.O.B._), which would eventually make him notice one particular girl, and from that tiny spark of interest in her, he would start feeling again. The fucking wall crumbled once she started chipping away at it. Emotions are such an inconvenience; he was better off insulated and talking to himself. Quite preferable to the insane ideas regularly popping up like drug pellets in the brain, getting one into trouble. This is Homura-after-Hinata, now look at the lovesick tribute: taking beatings here and there, just to check if the out-of-control body still worked, and hoping that sometime during the process of killing, the damned body would just quit. So far, it isn't happening, and one tries so bloody hard.      

* I wear my crown of shit / on my liar's chair / full of broken thoughts / I cannot repair / beneath the stain of time / the feeling disappears / you are someone else / I am still right here* 

Goddess of Death (yes, I got that memo, I have my own clout up in other-land) you will only come when I kill. Wherever you are, no matter how you try to avoid the sight of me, every time I cleave into some worthless piece of shit, you will be there and you will witness my hate, which is really just a product of my you-know-what-for-you—but you won't need to know any of that. So I will keep mashing and slashing, slicing and dicing, and I'll whistle a happy tune while I'm at it, because I'm sure you won't appreciate any of those sappy songs the humans create out of boredom. 

_For some odd reason, I've become invincible, I have all this power, and all this channeled hatred, and I'm doing my thing more successfully than ever before. I can take on anyone. I'm a junkie really, just the knowledge that you're trapped by me, with me, in those few tenuous seconds when a soul crosses over, gets me on such a high that I consider all the small things. Even a gnat would conjure your presence, but that would be an insult to you and to me, and so I've been choosing the more powerful of the lot, the more dangerous, the badass motherfuckers who need no prodding to bludgeon my unsound head, and I prod, prod, prod away, anyway, all the way, because just think: if I can trap you by and with me, then why don't I imprison you in me? _

_You will most certainly come when I am dying, you won't be able to stop yourself, no matter how you may feel for me, no matter that you've decided to leave me be. You will hear my last breath, feel that mortal blow (although really, when was the last time you checked my godamned heart? Destructible, yes, human, no, humanized, maybe), and I live for that moment, see the pathetic drudge I've become because of you. To be united in death, to brand my pain on you, to make you feel what I feel, to make you become what I've become—that won't give me pleasure, but a sick satisfaction. Who'd have thought a one-night-stand on an ice cube would be such trouble for you, oh my goddess, but I intend to be._

_Will I be transmigrated for all this, and do I care? It does not matter a damn to me, either way. Do I hope for absolution, do I count on mercy? I have no right to. But if I were given a choice…_

_* If I could start again / a million miles away / I would keep myself / I would find a way*_

_I would remember you. I would be shaped by this memory of you. I would find you. I would keep you. I would lose myself again in you. If you would let me, if you would only let me…_

_And look who's here, monkey boy himself, come to take on his master's slayer. My, my, the stripling looks pissed, like he means business. I never credited him with such ferociousness. Have I wrongly estimated his strength? What could have drawn the strong ones to this child? I'm only beginning to discern signs of the extraordinary in him.  _

_Are the unlikely couple not far behind? Should I wait? No. The least I can do is honor Goku's grief, it oddly resembles my own. _

_Another dance of death I dedicate to you, itoshii._

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* Hurt by **Nine Inch Nails ***

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Rui's voice had taken on a maddened edge sometime ago, through which portrayal the frenzied Homura had come into view for Rui's listeners. His appearance had somehow split into two, one shadowy superimposition becoming Homura, and the Rui Sana knew in the background.

Sakuragi was enchanted, all but slavering with elation. He sat stone still but his eyes flickered, and one can almost see the data being processed, filed, and inscribed in his brain. For Sana, it was frightening how easily Rui could slip into and impersonate his father, and it was troublesome that she would not allow herself to equate ruthlessness with her cousin; though she knew him perfectly capable of it, she still created that split-effect of denial. Didn't Rui just imagine all this? How could he know? Where has he been? Who did he speak to, how did he acquire this information? _How could he have known what Homura had so desperately wanted to say to obasan_?

_"At the unlikeliest hands, Homura did receive his death wish…" _Rui smiles crookedly, and it can be debated whether it was the result of his love of irony, or an indication of his feelings (which can only be guessed at—disdain? embarrassment? empathy?), _"and of course, my mother came. Hinata was delivered to him by fate, driven by his will to be destroyed."_

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I needed a break from writing something else, so I ended up with this installment. I'm sure some of you will detest it, and I confess had not planned to go this direction so soon (am referring to development of story and not writing time). It got speeded up to this plot-point because I'm playing it safe—yes, yes, I still have not seen the series and am crapping it up, but I do so with caution and I'm hoping the ones who had asked me to continue will not be terribly let down.   


End file.
